Hallie stood and walked to the wall where her note cards still dangled, looking as though one strong breath would send them all to the floor, where they might rearrange themselves in a new order. “My husband in a park when he’s supposed to be out of town. The most simple explanation is that you were wrong. But it’s not the correct explanation, is it?”

“No, it’s not.”

Hallie shook her head, breaking free of something invisible binding her, and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. She glanced first at Colleen and then at her brother. “We have to ask Dad. It’s the only way. Nothing else makes sense. He has to tell us. Was he in Ireland for two years or one? Did he marry Mother in 1980 or 1981? That’s the bottom line.”

“I’d go by the stamp on the pictures.” Colleen pointed to the pile of them on the table, the black-and-white, the faded color and the newly printed.

“Then you were born in Ireland.”

“That can’t be right. My birth certificate says Watersend. Unless my father isn’t . . . Dad.” She shook her head. “No. There has to be a logical explanation.”

“Exactly.”

Shane paced the room, running his hands through his hair. “We have a lot bigger things to figure out than that one year.”

“Yes, we do. Like who’s going to take care of Dad.” Colleen was the one who spoke what they were all thinking.

“We are.” Shane slapped his hand on his thigh, a sound that reverberated through the room.

“Well, we can face the truth or pretend it’s not happening,” Colleen said.

All these conversations, overlapping and underlapping, but all of them pointing to the same thing: a cold hard look at the truth.

Hallie shook her head. “You aren’t talking about Dad. I know that. You’re talking about seeing Walter with a friend and making me think it’s . . .”

Colleen held out her hand to interrupt Hallie. “If she was a friend, she was a mighty friendly friend. I get that you don’t want to admit the truth. Hell, I wouldn’t want to see it either. But guess what—not wanting to see it doesn’t make it go away.”

“Shut up, Lena. Shut up.” Hallie pushed at the back of a chair, the scraping sound like nails on a chalkboard. She slammed her fist on the table. Then her face went as still as a lake, turning from the rigorous and tumultuous river during a storm to something so still it was eerie. Her eyes were dry, her expression blank.

Colleen waved her hand in front of her sister’s face. “Are you okay?”